The Storyteller (Oikawa Tooru x reader)

21. train in vain

"He didn't even try to talk to me," Rin whimpered to you, outside the stadium, as she cried. "He just walked past me with his teammates!"

"Well, he's upset," you tried to reason. "And the only people who can understand that are his teammates, right?"

"But I just want to help!" Rin wailed.

You were silent; it felt like your stomach was ablaze, as it contracted in pain at the thought of Oikawa's pained face as he left the court.

He didn't deserve this.

"I don't want you talking to him," Rin spluttered through tears. "Don't you dare try to comfort him. I'm the one who should do it. I am his partner, and the one he should look for when he gets upset. Not a word, (Y/n)!" she then stormed off, wiping her face indignantly. 

You stayed in place like a cardboard figure, and then corrected your posture when you realised you were standing like Donald Trump. 

Well, that was rude; what kind of authority did she have to be able to tell you not to do something? Really, you were so tired of this bullshit.

A smirk spread across your face, as an idea popped up in your mind. Alright, then; no talking? Fine.

You wouldn't talk to him.

(In fact it probably worked even better this way.)

-

The next morning, you came before a sore sight; Oikawa sat at his desk, his eyes red and irritated, along with dark circles underneath them, with a glum expression. It almost crushed you, but you walked right up to his desk, and planted a piece of paper on it.

Oikawa raised an eyebrow at you, clearly exhausted. "I'm really not in the mood for games right now," he sighed.

You narrowed your eyes at him, and gestured for him to open it, with a scowl. With a reluctant huff, he unfolded the letter, and began to read your barely cohesive Japanese. 

Apparently I'm banned from speaking to you so I'm going to communicate like this, if you can even read my writing. But even so, I'd like you to meet me at lunch. Even if I can't offer any comfort I'd prefer to at least try.

Oikawa was silent for a moment, before murmuring, "Your Kanji has gotten better."

You smiled to yourself, knowing he'd agreed to your proposal from that response. 

During class you didn't pay attention; instead, you took out a piece of paper and wrote. You wrote and you wrote and you wrote, until your hand ached, and you squinted behind your glasses as the objects beneath you blurred, ink staining your hand. You wrote, not for yourself, but for Oikawa, your only hope being that you'd be able to convey how proud of him you were.

You wrote, and the words flourished beneath your pen, the page dripping with emotion as you poured out everything that you wanted to tell him, but would never be able to speak out loud correctly.

By the time it was lunch, you'd written a shit ton, but that was for the best. Quickly, you stood up, gathered your hard work together, and then walked out of the classroom, Oikawa following, albeit a bit slowly.

Once you'd found a private spot, you sat down, on some steps, and patted the space next to you. He also lowered himself, then spared you a tired, questioning glance.

Without opening your mouth, you handed him the papers. 

And he read what you'd written.

First of all, I'm kind of glad Rin banned me from speaking to you because I don't think I could say all this out loud properly. If there's one thing I'm actually good at it's writing, so it works better.

(Don't ask me why Rin told me not to talk to you. I don't have a fucking clue either.)

Secondly… I can't express, even with words, just how proud of you I am. You were fantastic; whether you lost or not, you were still amazing; whether that prodigy finally overtook you or not, you still fought like an absolute champion; and if you weren't good enough then so be it.

But don't you dare forget that you gave your everything towards that and you should hold your head high for that fact.

And I'm well aware of what you're thinking right now, Oikawa Tooru. You're thinking, "I wasn't good enough." 

Thing is, you may not be now, but someday you will be. You'll be more than enough one day.

I'm more than sure—scratch that, I know—that you're going to chase volleyball until you're out of breath, because you're never going to be satisfied.

So I want you to keep in mind that high school is only one step of the journey. I know how much you love this sport. I know how much you deserve only the best because I've watched you work till you bleed, and it's awful that it had to end this way.

Yet you still have a long way to go, you know? Just because you didn't make it in high school, doesn't mean you're never going to make it. You are literally 18, for starters; and I don't like saying it, but nobody on your team is at your level of skill. 

I'm not saying this isn't something to just brush aside. Of course this is upsetting; but once you've shed your tears, accepted what happened and given yourself time, you can move forward again.

And I know you will.

I'm always going to believe in you. Don't you dare stop working, trying your absolute best, or lose that passion you have for volleyball. 

And no matter what you will always make the people who love and care for you proud.

Because you're Oikawa Tooru. And you're no prodigy; but you are a damn hard worker, with a persistence very few people have, who has a goal in his mind that he will achieve one day.

I need you to remember that. I promise I'll cheer for you when I see you on television, serving up an ace, and bringing victory to whatever team you play for.

I'm not good with talking, but I sincerely hope I got the main message through to you with this.

I'm so fucking proud of you. More than you could ever know.

You sat there, for what felt like hours, eyes closed, listening to the sound of your heart thumping in your chest, till it was interrupted by small sniffles from next to you.

Abruptly, you turned Oikawa, only to find him staring down at the last few sentences you'd written, with tears running down his cheeks, dripping onto the paper.

Your features contorted into one of panic, as you attempted to decide what to do, before clumsily wrapping an arm around his shoulders and letting him rest his head on your shoulder. Instead of shrinking away, like you'd expected, he leaned into your touch, and tried to muffle his sobs into your jumper.

With a sigh, you lifted your unoccupied hand, took the end of your sleeve in a fist, and hesitantly dabbed at his face, cleaning away the mess that had been caused by the waterworks.

"Deadass I'm going to smell of snot now," you joked weakly. "Whoops, I broke the pact too."

Oikawa offered a weak, but audible chuckle, mixed with his whimpers of pain, yet it was enough to reassure you that you'd somehow helped him slightly.

You two sat there for the rest of lunch.